


The Picture of Neal Caffrey

by Wearing Cardigans (Haelblazer)



Category: Supernatural, White Collar
Genre: Apple Crumble, Arguing, Author's Favorite, Case Fic, Clever Neal, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Crowley Being an Asshole, Dean Has Commitment Issues, Exes, Gen, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Prompt Fill, Season/Series 02, Season/Series 06, Secrets, Soulless Sam Winchester, Trust Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:23:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haelblazer/pseuds/Wearing%20Cardigans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years ago Neal made a deal. Now Crowley’s back and a painting may be the answer to Neal’s problems. His ex-whatever-they-were Dean may not agree.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Picture of Neal Caffrey

**Author's Note:**

> Set during Season 2 of White Collar, and after episode 6x06 of Supernatural.

“Four years, tsk tsk.” Crowley’s voice carried over the water by the South Street Seaport, his British accent more pronounced than Neal remembered. Neal had no idea how much of an affectation the accent was--Crowley was a demon speaking with some human's tongue, and Scottish by birth long ago.  The dark hair and eyes, the face that he was known by, those belonged to another man and Neal couldn't begin to guess whether the voice belonged to the demon himself or to the man that he was wearing. The curiosity about it nagged at him, but he had greater and more personal concerns at hand, which Crowley was pleased to accentuate. “For a man with such limited time, that is quite the chunk to lose behind bars.”

“You won’t get any argument from me.” Neal stood leaning against a post, unable to walk out onto the pier without triggering the tracking anklet around his leg. In a designer suit from the 1960s with a black fedora perched on his head and a blue tie to match his striking blue eyes, Neal was the very picture of vintage handsome charm. Sometimes he couldn’t stand to look at himself. "At least not on that point."

His looks were an advantage and Neal used them for what they were, but he hadn't come by any of it naturally. As a child who had been called funny-looking one hundred and one too many times, Neal Caffrey fantasized about being able to get by on his looks. It was never just a pretty face though, never just a thing that you could get from a plastic surgeon if you had enough money. As Neal grew out of goofy-looking and into awkward, he envied the people around him who seemed so comfortable in their own skin that other people flocked around just to watch them live in it. Neal longed to be the kind of person who would attract not just attention but also desire and trust. Those people had style and magnetism, grace and every intangible appeal that Neal wanted to embody himself. Seven years ago, Crowley sold him the 'it-factor' that he wanted. So far Neal had squandered more than half of that time with his gifts in prison. He should've asked for the wits to talk himself out of prosecution in the first place.  Now, he waited for the smug bastard to say something about how Neal must have regretted his magnetic appeal in prison. But apparently Crowley didn’t have much desire or time to taunt him, getting straight down to business instead.

“You know I prefer to make my deals at crossroads, but for you, my precious, I make an exception.” Crowley spread his arms magnanimously and Neal had to force himself not to recoil.  When they first met, Neal was unsettled that his call had been answered by the alleged leader of all crossroads demons--the everyday dealers in human souls. This seemed like a disturbingly major player to respond to someone like him and it set off a battle between his common sense and his low self esteem. This had to be a bad idea if such a bad thing wanted to see to him personally. But a summoning isn't something that a guy like Neal would've taken up lightly. His decision to deal was already made and his doubts couldn't shout loud enough to talk him out of it. Now Crowley claimed leadership over all of hell and he'd still taken the time to seek Neal out personally. The demon wanted something from him and that could be very bad. On the other hand, he was running low on time and maybe this could buy him more.

“You want to make a deal?” Neal asked suspiciously, wondering what he could possibly have that Crowley would want.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the worlds have been in a bit of an uproar,” Crowley said plainly. “Gates of hell being opened, Lucifer set loose, apocalypse started, apocalypse thwarted, blah blah blah, I won’t bore us both with the details.”

“The apocalypse?” Neal asked incredulously. The apocalypse seemed like something he would have noticed.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll play a part the next time something big goes down. You will, after all, be my right hand man.” It wasn’t the first time that Crowley had hinted at special plans for Neal when collection time came. Every time this happened, Neal's internal voice screamed at him that he'd made a mistake. He thought his inner voice was rather gauche to keep screaming the obvious like that.

“You were supposed to be getting to a point,” Neal steered the conversation back on track; it was bad enough listening to someone brag about their leverage over him when it didn’t involve his soul. “Hopefully having to do with a deal that will override that last one.”

“Yes, of course.” Crowley smiled softly, chuckling to himself. “Small side effect of the apocalypse--the damned thing sent a bunch of heaven’s weapons flying to every corner of the earth, just waiting for someone to find them.”

“Let me guess,” Neal asked warily. “You’ve found one.”

“Indeed I have,” Crowley gloated. “And my deal for you is five more years with that soul of yours just for playing delivery boy.”

“If you know where it is, then why don’t you go get it? You’re not exactly hindered by security systems.” Neal was always suspicious when people wanted to hire him as a middleman. If it wasn’t an inside job, then it usually meant that something about the job was too dangerous for them to take the risk themselves.

“Some people have clever little ways of keeping demons away and I’ve already lost two of my minions trying. This time I’d like to try a little human touch.” Neal’s time was running short and the deal was tempting.

“Sounds like a powerful weapon if it’s that hard for you to get at,” Neal pointed out. “If I’m putting something that powerful in your hands, I want more than another five years.”

“Five and a half,” Crowley offered with a broad smile.

“All of them,” Neal countered. “I want my soul back, free and clear of any debt to you or any hell-affiliated entities.”

Crowley laughed dryly. “Come now, this isn’t exactly a seller’s market. You’re not the only person who I can buy off, you might want to rethink your hard bargaining.”

“I’ve thought about my last deal with you and I regret it. I’m not making the same mistake twice,” Neal said firmly. “Anyway, I’m the best thief you’re gonna get and you came to me for a reason, right? It's not for any of the gifts that you sold me. You want to use my skill, my intelligence, my talent--”

"Look at that, you do such a good job of selling yourself," Crowley interrupted, "It's an excellent reminder of why I want to hold onto what's mine."

"But in the long run there's something you want more, or someone you want more than me." Neal had only gotten better at reading people over the years, and demon or not Crowley was as readable as anyone else. "You knew what I'd want, and you're willing to give it to me because I can get you something that you want more. So what is it?"

Crowley leveled a glare at Neal that told him he was right. “You love a nice painting, don’t you?”

oOo

Crowley told Neal that he’d know soon enough where the painting was located, but he hadn't expected to find out while he was in the FBI’s Manhattan office, sipping on a paper cup full of bitter black coffee the next morning. Neal had been flirting with an utterly uninterested Diana when the familiar rumblr of a throat clearing sounded out behind him. He spun around, eyes wide and smiling like a puppy whose owner had just come home. Peter held back his own smile and signaled for Neal to follow him.

“You know she has a girlfriend,” Peter pointed out.

“That’s what makes it so fun.” Neal winked. “Flirting kind of loses some of its sparkle when you’re actually trying to pick someone up.”

“Well lets lose that sparkle while we're at the office, okay?” Peter's firmly-stated words were only technically a question, but he still waited for Neal to confirm his agreement.

"Understood," Neal nodded once. "I'll keep my search for sparkle to my time off leash--whenever that may be."

Neal had the grace to at least feign mumbling that last part under his breath, so Peter chose not to take the bait. Instead he changed the subject to their next assignment and Neal listened passively until Peter started talking about a body count.

“Murders?” Neal questioned curiously. “That doesn’t seem very ‘white collar’.”

“It is when the murders are connected to a $3,000,000 painting.” Peter led Neal into the conference room and pointed to a photograph lying on the table.

Neal stopped just short of the table, already knowing exactly what he would see when he looked down at the picture. He didn’t want confirmation, but Peter nodded for him to take a look, so he braced himself and spun the paper around to face him.

“The painting’s not even on display yet. People are killing each other while it’s locked away in storage and we need to figure out why.” Peter tapped a finger on the photograph to punctuate his sentence, maybe to show the seriousness of the situation, but Neal didn’t need any convincing. He knew that painting.

Neal felt better knowing that two of those dead people were actually demon-possessed bodies who may have been dead already beforehand, but he still felt a sense of dread.

oOo

“So the painting is possessed?” Mozzie’s eyes lit up at the talk of anything that hinted of ghosts. He still thought that was what Neal’s earlier brush with the supernatural had entailed. It sounded better than telling his friend that he’d made a deal with a demon and only had a temporary lease on his soul.

“It’s not possessed,” Neal said absentmindedly while examining plans for the museum where the painting was being stored. “It’s cursed or spelled or…something to keep the wrong people away.”

“Somehow I’m guessing you didn’t get this information from the suit.”

Neal looked back at Mozzie, gave him a ‘what do you think’ look, and went back to the blueprints.

“Forgive me for pointing out the obvious, but you do know somebody a little more qualified to handle otherworldly murder,” Mozzie suggested, earning him a glare from Neal. “Look, all I’m saying is that you might want to overlook your falling out with you ex for long enough to—”

“He’s not my ex,” Neal interrupted without looking up from the blueprints. “And I don’t need him to handle this.”

“You realize this is insane, right?” Mozzie had said it about so many of Neal’s plans that it was starting to lose its meaning, even when it was probably accurate.

oOo

Neal should have known that Mozzie would go behind his back and call. He’d called Peter when he thought Neal was going to kill Fowler, and now he’d called Dean and his brother when he thought Neal was going to go ghost-hunting unprepared. Neal could never stay mad when Mozzie did things like this because Neal knew he could make emotional decisions and he needed a check in place.

It didn’t mean he was happy to see Dean.

He and his brother arrived in New York the following day, having driven from Pennsylvania. Neal and Sam had never had much interaction beyond their initial meeting, and Neal had no idea how much Sam knew about Neal and Dean, so their greeting was somewhat stilted but professional. Mozzie greeted both brothers with enthusiasm and launched into an explanation about what they’d learned of the painting and its location since last talking to them.

Neal and Dean looked at each other then looked away.

It wasn’t until after the four men had hashed out a plan to infiltrate the museum, argued over who would go along and who wouldn’t, and begrudgingly agreed to all go together, that Dean spoke to Neal directly. Sam and Mozzie were sitting side by side, staring at their laptops, trying to find out more about the background of the painting when Dean sauntered over to Neal.

“Your buddy there know why you aren’t so happy to see me?” Dean nodded toward the table where Mozzie was enthusiastically pointing at something on Sam’s computer screen while Sam looked at him blankly.

“We don’t discuss it,” Neal said flatly, not wanting to deal with Dean’s lecturing again.

“You don’t think you owe it to the guy who’s putting his ass on the line for you to know what’s coming?” Dean sounded like he was projecting but, to Neal, Dean always sounded like he was projecting.

“What I’ve got coming to me has nothing to do with Mozzie. As far as he needs to know,” Neal leaned his face in close to Dean’s, “ the only fight we had was about your inability to commit to anything that’s not your family.”

Dean looked over Neal’s shoulder uncomfortably, but Sam and Mozzie were still preoccupied. “How long are you gonna let him keep believing that lie?”

“You freaking out and disappearing on me when I invited you to spend _one_ week in Monte Carlo with me is a lie?” Neal raised an eyebrow skeptically, but Dean just frowned at him. “It wasn't a marriage proposal, Dean, it was a vacation. I used to enjoy those."

“Whatever.” Dean shook his head. “You run around and live your life on borrowed time, whatever’s left of it.” Dean started to walk away, but Neal grabbed his sleeve. Dean looked down at Neal’s fingers curling into the leather of his jacket, then back up at Neal’s face.

“How long are you going to keep hating me for a choice I made before I even met you?” The question might as well have been rhetorical, so Dean didn't even pretend to answer it.

"That's what you want to be dramatic about? Me and you? Not that hell's gonna be strapping you in and taking you on a ride for the next few centuries?" Dean peeked over his shoulder to make sure their conversation was still just between the two of them. "I've got plenty of things to hate and believe me you've got nothing on 'em...maybe in a few years once that deal comes up."

Neal ground his teeth together and crunched the sleeve of Dean's jacket where he was holding it, "So this is you just setting the stage for the hate that's coming later, by tearing me down and acting like I did something wrong to you personally."

"If that's how you're taking it, then that's on you." Dean leaned in closer, "Trust me, I've said the same things to people who I liked more and who I liked less--hate doesn't even begin to factor into it."

"No. Just hypocrisy," Neal let go of Dean's jacket and stepped away to put some space between them again. "You know if I hadn’t made that deal, you never would have found me--and I know you don't regret finding me.”

“We weren’t exactly some apple pie romance,” Dean countered, trying to shrug off Neal's reminders of their time together.

“We were a nice apple crumble though.” Neal said wistfully then smiled at Dean’s baffled expression. It was the least cliché way that Neal knew how to say that it hadn’t all been bad times. They had both considered themselves far too charming and far too old for the cutesy trappings of courtship and romance, but there had been  _something_  there between them. Even Neal didn't know why he couldn't let this go, it's not like he and Dean had been some great love story, but perhaps it was that same part of him that had made the deal in the first place--the part that wanted to be sought, be appreciated, be loved. The existence of the deal itself seemed to overcome any pull that Dean felt toward him and Neal couldn't stand the unfairness of it all. “I suppose that's another thing that we have in common--we both need it to be about romance more than once in a while.”

Dean just shrugged as if he was dismissing the idea outright, so Neal turned around and backed up against the wall to stand beside him. The two men stood and watched Sam and Mozzie for a few moments before Neal spoke.

“I wish I could take it back,” he admitted. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to.”

Dean turned his head to look at Neal, who stayed facing forward. He thought silently before asking, “D’you know which crossroads demon you made your deal with? Maybe we could try to find them, work something out?”

“Does ‘work something out’ mean ‘shoot them in the face’?” Neal looked at Dean and received a smile in return.

“Doesn’t it always?”

oOo

Peter tried not to be mistrustful, but he had a duty as the person responsible for Neal to monitor his tracking anklet and check up on his activities. For the last few days, Neal had been spending a lot of time at home and at various diners around the city. It wasn’t his usual pattern and it made Peter curious, but he tried to clamp down on worry. It was difficult to keep up those efforts at optimism once Jones spotted Neal with Mozzie meeting in front of June's with two unknown associates. If Neal seemed capable of having friends outside of the criminal world, then Peter wouldn’t get so worried, but every time Neal met up with somebody who Peter didn’t know, it seemed to lead to trouble. Jones had tried to I.D. the two men, but without a photograph or video to run through facial recognition software, the best they had was his limited memory. At this point, Peter was unsure if he should keep trying to look into it.

Peter shared his concerns with Elizabeth over breakfast, distractedly leaving his tie undone--whenever he leaned over, the untied ends threatened to fall into his oatmeal. El listened as he talked all through breakfast and when he was done she stopped the tie from flopping into his empty bowl.

“Have you talked to Neal about it?” Elizabeth started tying and straightening Peter’s tie for him as he finished off his orange juice. She felt like the caretaker for an absentminded professor (combined with a customer service representative asking a caller if his computer was on) but with Peter so distracted she knew that he might not have tried the obvious. 

“I’ve hinted at it,” Peter hedged. “I just don’t want to say something that makes him think I don’t trust him. You’ve seen how bad he can get; it’ll just send him spiraling back to his old ways.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little past all that?" She didn't expect Peter to remove Neal's anklet and leave him to come and go as he pleased, but hadn't they made enough progress that Peter could ask a simple question without undoing everything they'd worked toward? "I’d like to think it’s the two of you against the world by now.” 

Peter returned his wife’s glowing smile. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too...but you can't really work with a partner if you can't talk things over. I think...that you've always worked better with a partner." El wiped a drop of orange juice from the corner of Peter’s mouth tenderly and beamed at him. "There you are. Perfect."

"Now where'd you get that idea?”

oOo

They were in one of the museum’s storage areas when things all went to hell. Not literally this time, but that seemed quite possible in the near future.

Everyone but Dean had been surprised when Dean said that he and Neal would search one of the museum’s two storage areas while Sam and Mozzie searched the other. Neal had suggested that Sam and Dean stick together, but Sam agreed with his brother that it was best to have someone who knew how to handle the supernatural in each pair.

Neal had tried not to show how agitated he was, partially because he and Dean were tentatively on decent terms again, and partially because he didn’t want anyone to be suspicious about why he didn’t want Sam or Dean around when he found the painting. Based on the temperature control guidelines he’d found, he knew that the painting would be in the west storage area. He didn’t have much of a plan for what he’d do when he found the painting with Dean right there, so he played it by ear...and thus, as mentioned before, things went to hell.

There didn’t seem to be anything at all mystical about the painting, but there were charred handprints on the frame and the canvas bore an overbearing scent of sulfur. When Neal found it, Dean had his back turned and Neal took inspiration from Alex’s playbook. She'd been good for a lot of inspiration lately. Neal remained as quiet as possible while he tucked the painting into the case he’d brought along, and as he started to leave; when Dean inevitably noticed what he was doing, Neal ran for the exit and left locked Dean inside.

“What the hell?” Dean asked, mostly confused at this point as he tried to open the door.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I need this painting,” Neal tried to explain.

“Neal? Neal! Dammit, open the door!” Dean shouted as he banged on the door.

Neal frowned at Dean through the door’s Plexiglas window. “If you don’t break out yourself, Mozzie and Sam will come find you soon enough.”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?!,” Dean barked. Neal knew that Dean would start shooting at the lock soon and he needed to be gone before that happened.

oOo

Dean  _did_  try to shoot the lock open, but had no luck and no reception, so he was stuck locked in the storage area for at least an hour until Sam and Mozzie found him.

“Where’s Neal?” Sam looked around the storage room, obviously expecting him to pop out from behind a row of boxes.

“Probably doing something that’ll get himself killed even sooner,” Dean answered bitterly.

oOo

Mozzie was impressed that Sam was able to hack into the U.S. Marshals’ computer system to find Neal using his tracking anklet, but all of those good feelings were kind of overshadowed when he wondered what his friend was doing with an evil painting.

By the time Sam, Dean, and Mozzie arrived at the meeting spot under the Brooklyn Bridge, Crowley was zipping up the case holding the painting and Neal was being granted irrevocable possession of his immortal soul.

“Crowley?” Sam was mildly surprised to see him involved.

“Crowley,” Dean growled; he was beginning to really want this guy to be dead. He looked to Neal, who seemed guilty but unapologetic. “I told you I’d try to help you, and you go to him and make another deal?”

“I didn’t have the time or the willingness to take that kind of risk,” Neal answered.

“But you’ll risk the souls of other people?” Dean asked angrily. “Do you realize what you just gave him? Think Picture of Dorian Gray on meth-amphetamines. It sits there, capturing the souls of innocent people and then they’re stuck there until something like Crowley wants to use them.”

“Oh please, innocent people,” Crowley interrupted, laughing as he turned to wink at Neal, “I would never give up something as valuable as Neal Caffrey for something so ridiculous--and imaginary, by the way--as innocent people. I have far better plans for this...Oh, sorry, just a moment, I can’t be close to this painting for too long or…”

Crowley had been subtly unzipping the case again as he spoke. Sam and Dean looked between each other, not doing the best job of communicating with their eyes, but both knowing that if they tried to rush Crowley for the painting then he could be gone before they ever reached him. Neal watched Crowley, letting the weight of whatever he'd just done sit with him as deserved, while Mozzie looked around at everybody, desperately wanting to ask if that was really a demon talking to them right now, but knowing that it probably wasn’t the best time. A smile grew on Crowley's face and he lifted his gaze toward Neal.

"You were right, there is somebody who would make a far better right-hand-man." With an effortless tilt of his wrist, Crowley flipped the painting forward and pointed it at Sam. It was Dean who flinched back and reached out to push Sam out of the way, but Sam was planted firmly and only curled his fists in the beginning of a defensive posture.

Nothing happened.

Crowley stood silently for a few seconds, then peered down to look more closely at the painting, still careful to avoid facing it head-on. The painting was still pointing at Sam.

"Hey, is he trying to steal my soul right now?" Sam asked, almost as if he was confused about why Crowley would want to do such a thing.

"Son of a--" Dean growled out at the same time that Crowley's anger burst forth and cut him off. 

“You slimy little--” Crowley shouted, taking the painting in his leather-gloved hand and smashing it over his knee. “You trying to pass a forgery off on me?”

“Forgery? Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Neal held his hands up, palms forward in front of his chest, indicating that Crowley should slow down. “I took the painting you wanted me to take; if it’s a fake then that’s not on me.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you? Got your soul back before I could notice the painting had no power,” Crowley spat. “Well I assure you that your remaining time on earth will be nowhere near pleasant if you think you can pull one over on me.”

“Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. All I did was get you the painting,” Neal insisted, earning him a scowl from Crowley, who disappeared just as Dean jumped forward to stab the empty air where the demon had been standing.

“ Bastard," Dean mumbled into the concrete and tried to downplay the pain of smashing himself onto the ground (and a few glass shards) after flailing through the air trying to stab at nothing.  When Dean spoke again, he directed his attention to Neal, who was standing closest too him.  “You could’ve just told us you wanted to make a forgery to get your soul back. You know, instead of locking me up in a museum.”

“I didn’t make a forgery,” Neal said as he looked out on the water. “And if I did then I’d certainly never admit it to anyone.”

“Yeah, well, Crowley’s not going to believe that line after the painting didn’t work on Sam.” Dean glanced over at his brother, who was looking back at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “If you need any more help, you’ll let me know next time?”

Neal looked back at Dean and couldn't quite pull together the false smile that he wanted to put on. “Of course.”

The king of hell thought that Neal Caffrey had tried to cheat him. How long did Dean think it would be before he needed that help?

**-END-**

**Author's Note:**

> Written 10-Dec-2010.
> 
> Prompts : Neal and Mozzie know about the existence of supernatural things. When strange murders related to a cursed painting start to happen and the FBI is not any closer to figuring out the truth, he and Mozzie go behind Peter's back and call Sam and Dean.
> 
> Long ago Neal made a deal with Crowley and now it's payback time. The good thing is that Crowley has another deal to offer to him. The bad thing is that what he wants in exchange is almost impossible to get, especially with Peter Burke breathing down Neal's neck.


End file.
